


Sunday Morning

by serenityofinsanity



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pining Sherlock, Post-Season/Series 03, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 06:00:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2299025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenityofinsanity/pseuds/serenityofinsanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock wakes up at 7 am on a Sunday morning and wishes he never had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This just kind of happened. I apologize in advance.

Sherlock wakes up at 7 am on a Sunday morning and wishes he never had.

Beneath his pounding headache, last night’s memories lurk, putrid and scummy and foul enough to make him want to claw at his wrists until he forgets all about them (old habits). But even Sherlock can’t stop his own mind.

He remembers being drunk. Generally he doesn’t like the loss of control, but last night, he couldn’t have cared less. He remembers dancing, hard liquor, and lots of attractive men. Eventually, as the night went on and he grew tired of countless sweaty bodies bumping into him, he approached someone. He asked for his name, and promptly forgot it.

He remembers kissing him up against the wall, having to bend down to make up for their height difference, fisting a hand in short blond hair and feeling so desperate, and so hopeless. The man wouldn’t let them go back to his place (girlfriend, probably), so they ended up at 221B.

Sherlock had looked at the chairs by the fireplace and the skulls and the clutter and the short, blond stranger standing in his flat and said “ _Get out_.”

The man tried to be concerned about him for a minute or two, but eventually he left, and Sherlock sat in his chair with his knees to his chest and wondered if this, of all things, would be what killed him. Loneliness was so much worse when you knew what it was like to have a friend.

He wakes up at 7 am on a Sunday morning with a blanket draped across him and a cup of tea at his elbow. He thinks that maybe he’s a bit less alone than he thought.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm trying to kill myself.docx


End file.
